


Axiom

by weytani



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/F, F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weytani/pseuds/weytani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks into the semester, Shaw wonders if this was even a shared room to begin with. Maybe, she thinks, someone died in here, and what she's seeing is a lingering spirit that won't stop meeting her at the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if people are getting sick of aus, but... it just happened... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning (just to be safe): some slightly dubious consent around voyeurism here (i.e. character potentially not aware of being watched by a third party)

The first time it happens is a write-off; it's just an accident, because Root's not even supposed to be around when Shaw stumbles backwards into their room. Not at 3am, when she's swinging a bottle of Jack in one hand and a drunken frat boy in the other.

Her roommate has been a mystery since day one; she's always gone or going, a sweet smile and a wave that flutters by as Shaw kicks her boots off in the doorway. Her side of the room is neat and clean, minimalist to the point of emptiness.

Three weeks into the semester, Shaw wonders if this was even a shared room to begin with. Maybe, she thinks, someone died in here, and what she's seeing is a lingering spirit that won't stop meeting her at the door.

Apparently, that's not the case.

So it's 3am and she's teetering on the edge of a really nice buzz, and there's a guy on her arm who's sure to leave before the sweat dries on her comforter. He doesn't ask for her name, and she doesn't bother turning the lights on before pushing him down and stripping while he reaches for her blindly in the dark.

Her clothes form an uncoordinated pile on the floor, the bottle quickly left abandoned on a wobbly stack of textbooks at the foot of her bed. If there's a scuffle of sheets being thrown back on the other side of the room, she sure as hell doesn't notice it, because this guy has solid abs and his mouth tastes like salt and lime.

And, of course, it's only when she's got him pinned to the bed, her hand pumping his dick beneath the confines of his boxers, that a lamp flickers on and Shaw's mysterious poltergeist of a roommate clears her throat.

"If you're going to do that in here, I'd really prefer you pick someone a little nicer to look at."

-

Her name is Root, and she's a monumental pain in the ass.

She's not messy, doesn't clog the shower drain with her hair or leave mouldy leftovers in the fridge, but there's just something so naturally invasive about her.

Maybe it's because she got a free floor show that night with the frat boy, and Shaw's bare ass has left too vivid an impression in her memory, but from that point on, Root's coming-and-goings meet a steep decrease in the latter.

Shaw will return from afternoon classes to find Root sitting on her bed, laptop balanced comfortably on her bare legs as she tap-tap-taps at the keys, and it'll continue on long into the night until Shaw eventually flatlines into a deep sleep or levels a book at her head.

The strange old habits are still prevalent though. Sometimes, when she's really struggling to doze off, Shaw will hear the door click shut and roll around to find Root long gone with the laptop in tow. On those nights, Shaw eventually realises, Root doesn't come back until morning.

Which leads right into the _second_ time it happens.

She's sober and it's barely midnight, but there's a hot girl in uniform following her back from a Halloween party. She wants to be clear-headed for this one, present enough to enjoy getting handcuffed to the bedpost by an officer of the law (well, School of Law).

 The hard plastic digs into her wrists and there's a woman in blue yanking her pants down to her ankles, but Shaw still casts a furtive glance at the other bed, like she's expecting the bedsheets to rise up into some kind of ghostly apparition.

(The kind that stares at her while she's pretending not to notice; the kind that steals her milk out of the fridge, and is probably drinking it straight from the carton because the line's receding and they're all out of reusable kitchen equipment.)

But the lights are on and there's nobody else in the room.

Shaw lets herself fall into it, the good feeling that comes with having an attractive stranger on top of her, toned thighs bracketing her stomach. The lady officer makes a throwaway comment about bad behaviour, and suddenly the door swings open and there's a poorly concealed huff of laughter from the hallway.

Shaw slams her head back into the pillow, a frustrated groan bubbling up in her throat as Root strolls into the room. She takes up her usual spot, fishing the laptop out of its case and propping it open like Shaw's not chained down for sexual reasons just a few feet away.

"Just pretend I'm not here." She waves a hand at them dismissively, eyes glued to the screen.

Suffice to say, Shaw doesn't get the orgasm she was after.

She does, however, spend a fair amount of time clawing her hands out of the handcuffs when her partner for the night sprints off in embarrassment, key still tucked away in her front pocket.

"Your timing sucks," Shaw mutters when the cuffs finally give way. She stretches her arms high above her head, not caring that she's still half-naked and forking out yet another excuse for Root to be gawky and unbearable.

But Root just hums in agreement, hardly lifting her eyes from the machine in her lap, and Shaw feels her jaw twitch with irritation that has no business being there.

"I see your taste is improving," Root says when Shaw's heading for the bathroom minutes later, hands rubbing at the raw skin around her wrists without really paying attention.

There's a smirk dimpling at Root's cheeks which is still present when Shaw returns, reaching for the main light switch as she passes.

"Goodnight, Sameen," she hears from somewhere in the dark, and she refuses to say it back.

-

What Shaw learns about Root in the weeks that follow, besides the fact that she's a shameless flirt who leaves brightly coloured sticky notes around the room when she borrows Shaw's stuff without asking, is this:

Root will never, under any circumstances, be straightforward about what she wants. At least not where Shaw is concerned.

Because if she had walked into that room one day, stripped herself down and said "Shaw, I want you to fuck me right now," everything that follows from here would be superfluous.

Instead, Shaw finds herself tossing and turning into consciousness before the sun comes up. She's an early riser as it is, but this time it still takes a minute for her to adjust to the rude awakening, and to the soft little gasps that manage to drag her from the sweet abyss.

Root's sex life is something she's never really been exposed to. Who she fucks, if she fucks - it's not an issue. The only window Shaw gets into that particular box is when Root's making sly little non-passes at her from across the room.

But here, as Shaw quietly rolls onto her side and lets her eyes become accustomed to the darkness, she gets her first glimpse between the shutters.

There's a naked woman tied to Root's bed.

Does she know this woman? Maybe. There are a lot of slim brunettes wandering around the campus on any given day.

Whoever she is, it's kind of hard to get a good look at her when her arms are thrown up above her head, knotted at the wrist by a leather belt that loops around the thin, wooden headboard. Her bicep is covering half her face, but Shaw can see that there's a scarf around her eyes too.

Knelt between the woman's spread legs, fully dressed and leaning back contentedly on her haunches, is Root.

She's just sitting there with her head tilted forward, and Shaw can only see the tip of her nose peeking out from behind that curtain of long hair, but her hand is stroking along the woman's thigh in plain view.

Root tenses her fingers, squeezing pale skin hard against her palm before dipping out of sight, and suddenly the body underneath her arches violently off the bed and the soft moans build into a long crescendo.

This isn't a secret hook-up under cover of darkness, Shaw realises; it's not bringing someone home to a room you presumed would be empty, or even a weak attempt at getting yourself off without waking up the oblivious roommate.

This is Root finally playing her hand. Literally.

She's making it look so casual though, like she's completely unaffected by the way she's working her partner over. Root makes sex look like a science project, and every flick of her wrist is a calculated move to keep the variables in check.

Shaw closes her thighs together under the sheets and blinks as little as she can.

It's all a game to Root, an experiment for someone else's benefit. Shaw's benefit, maybe.

And, as if to prove the point, Root turns her head and tilts it back, and her eyes cut into Shaw's like she's a special guest arriving half an hour late to her own party. Root smiles, bright and dangerous, baring her teeth in the dark like a predator.

Shaw looks and looks, and Root's hand movements grow fervent as she fucks this person, this stranger, who has no idea what she's in the middle of. Shaw can hear, with perfect clarity, the sound of Root's fingers thrusting into slick heat, despite the heavy breaths and gentle whimpers that come with every touch.

She lets her own hand slip down, tucks it between her thighs and leaves it there because she won't give Root the satisfaction of knowing she pushed her this far.

Root's still watching her, and Shaw scowls as fiercely as she's able, to no effect. She opens her mouth and inhales, a sharp comment already clear in her mind, because that's what you're supposed to do when someone pulls this kind of shit; you put a stop to it because it's fucking weird.

But as soon as her tongue lifts to form the first syllable, Root's moving her free hand and pressing an index finger to her lips.

It's a mocking gesture, a _joke_ , like she has any right to tell Shaw to keep quiet when the room down the hall can probably hear her girlfriend doing vocal warm-ups into the pillow.

And the most annoying part is that Shaw can't bring herself to say a word about it. She just watches it happen, fingers twitching between her legs, and the sheets must get crumpled in the process because Root's eyes slink away from her face and her smile only grows.

The woman on the bed wails into the inside of her elbow.

Shaw curls her fingers and settles against the heel of her palm.

Root fucks one, and watches the other.

-

Two days later, Shaw goes to a bar with some friends and brings home this pasty-looking British guy in a suit. He's tall and conceited, and his voice grinds on her nerves, so she leads him back to their room and rides him for a good twenty minutes while Root doesn't even pretend to be sleeping.

From here, they fall into something like a routine.

Shaw likes to switch things up in the bedroom; men and women, top and bottom. But Root has a very specific set of criteria. This becomes readily apparent after the third woman she brings home flicks her long, brown hair over one shoulder and slinks out of their room as the sun comes up, the skin around her ankles red-raw and visible as she picks her heels up on the way out.

They don't talk about it during the day, not about that first time and not about any time that follows.

Root makes comments every once in a while that edge the line they've marked so carefully. Just a teasing quip about Shaw's flexibility while she's stretching for her morning run, or a perverse twist on whatever vitriol Shaw spits at her when she's being a nuisance.

And sometimes she'll pause at the bathroom door after needlessly declaring her intention to use the shower, a coy little smile painted across her face as she tips her head towards Shaw. And waits, and waits, and finally goes.

In retaliation, Shaw does push-ups in her underwear, showers with the door open, eats sloppy food in their room and wipes her hands on Root's bedsheets, but only when she knows they've just been cleaned.

Shaw figures out that Root likes it best when she's tied down, and so she makes a point to dominate more frequently just to mess with her. Not always, of course, because Shaw's well aware of her own sexual preferences, and she'll surrender the reins if there are capable hands around to take hold.

And, in all honesty, the look on Root's face when she gives it up is enough to get her going, even when her pick of the week can't tell her clit from her bellybutton.

Meanwhile, Root's over there tying knot after knot like she'd rather take a bullet than let someone climb on top of her. Which, whatever, it's her business, but Shaw thinks she wouldn't mind seeing someone wipe that smug look off her face every now and then. Even when she gets off, there's this expression like she's claiming a trophy at someone else's expense.

There's always been a thrill to that part of it, Root's pageantry, and in pretending that this isn't the fucked up perversion that it is. Even when every person in the room can count to two and knows the numbers don't add up, there's never been a question of wrong or right from any party involved.

Shaw still pretends for her own self interest, lying on her side like she can shut her eyes at any moment and remove herself from the situation. Root, however, has long since dropped any facade of disinterest. Sometimes she'll sit with her back to the wall, and watch so shamelessly that Shaw's partner takes an interest.

(Only once do they ask her to join in. Root grins and shakes her head, hands clasped together over her knees as she looks at Shaw, and says, "I'm not interested in sharing.")

This goes on, in its own twisted but altogether harmless way, for the better part of a year.

And then some busybody decides to stick their nose in.

-

"Don't you have a roommate?" asks John Reese, proprietor of the nose in question.

They're sitting face-to-face in a booth, tucked away in the corner of the bar and waiting for Harold to return with their next round of drinks. Somehow, John decides that now is the best time to have this conversation, even though she and Root have been fucking everyone but each other for months.

Shaw sets her beer down on the table and smirks at him.

"Why, you looking to get set up?"

He frowns at her, brow wrinkling. "You know I have a girlfriend."

"Good thing, too. You're not really her type."

"Anyway," John leans forward in his seat like he's about to make a very important point, "where does she go when you bring these one-night stands back there?"

 _She doesn't go anywhere_. Shaw bites her tongue and _almost_ holds down the grin that creeps up onto her face. "I don't ask," she says instead.

John takes one look at her expression and goes from mildly inquisitive to outright suspicious.

"Does she know?"

"Oh, she knows." Shaw smirks into the lip of her bottle, eyeing an attractive blonde woman at the other end of the bar.

"And she's fine with it?"

His tone suggests that she shouldn't be, but Shaw can't imagine why. It's not like she's fucking in Root's bed, or kicking her out of the room. They have an understanding, her and Root, a mutual respect for each other's needs. A mutual... appreciation.

Shaw holds onto that thought for the span of two seconds before brushing past it and taking another swig of her drink. "Root has her own fun."

There's obviously another question simmering below the surface of John's latent respect for her privacy, but Harold's tray hits the table before he can go fishing for it. John shuffles further into the booth instead, and the conversation swerves into a lane not paved with Shaw's sexual history.

But she still thinks about it. Later, mostly, when John's already agreed to walk Harold back to his room, and Shaw's eyes lock down on the same blonde from earlier, nursing a fruity-looking cocktail at the bar.

She wonders what Root is doing, wonders if she's in bed, snoring softly, or pulling another one of her all-night disappearing acts. Maybe she's in a place much like this one, throwing seductive gazes at someone over the rim of her glass like this woman at the bar is doing to her.

The blonde smiles at her when she catches her eye, winking, and all Shaw can think about is how Root winks with both her eyes and smiles like a skulking crocodile.

Is this similar to how she seduces her women, Shaw wonders, and thinks about brown hair in place of vibrant yellow.

(Thinks, and imagines: Root crossing her legs provocatively, one hand playing at the strap of her dress. Root sliding off the chair and approaching her at the booth, offering to buy her a drink that she has no taste for.

Root looming over her in the dark, naked and panting and just out of reach.)

She goes home with the blonde.


	2. Chapter 2

After that, Shaw finds herself stuck in a loop of painfully vivid fantasies.

She thinks about Root's hair when she's scraping her fingers through somebody else's. She thinks about Root's mouth when there's a tongue rolling over her lips or between her thighs. Root's legs, her eyes, her breasts, and suddenly Shaw can't bring herself to fuck in their room anymore.

It's not some desperate bid to break out of the loop. Shaw's never been in the business of denying her own urges. She wants Root, wants to sleep with her at least, and it's becoming very clear that the fantasies won't stop until she scratches that itch.

The problem is, when she does, that particular itch is going to spread into a blazing rash of hurt feelings, because Shaw doesn't scratch the same itch twice and she sure as hell doesn't date them afterwards.

So she's going to keep screwing the versions of Root that don't smile affectionately at her first thing in the morning, before her eyes are even properly open; the ones that don't wipe mustard off her face with their thumb, or nudge their feet against hers under the table when they're sitting together at the library. Because the Root she projects onto other people doesn't follow her to the library in the first place.

She stops  bringing them back to the dorm room. Because she needs the projection, and because it's damn hard to fuck a fantasy when reality is staring at you like she wants to tear you open.

And because they don't talk about it, Shaw doesn't notice how significant the change is from Root's perspective. Not until there's yet another woman in her bed, all trussed up and waiting, grinning expectantly under the blindfold while Root sits on the edge of her mattress and takes her boots off with slow, drawn-out movements.

Shaw was sleeping lightly when they entered the room, Root's shoes making sharp clicks loud enough to wake her up, even as she whispered for her companion to be quiet.

This time, the final time, Shaw lies on her back, head turned so she can still watch as Root lines her boots up under the bed and runs her palms down over her thighs, ignoring the figure that's starting to grow restless behind her back.

A trucker drives by the window, and suddenly the room is lit up with the bright streak of passing headlights. Root's face comes into sharp focus, and Shaw meets her gaze in an agonizing moment of clarity.

It's been six months of this game, this revolving door of men and women filling the space between them. And maybe it's always been less of a door than a wall of detached sexual activity, body after body on either side just to keep them from falling into something stupid.

But now, Shaw decides, she doesn't want the fucking wall.

She doesn't want Root to see her getting off with someone else, and lying here, watching Root bend over a stranger and stroke them with the tips of her fingers; it's starting to piss her off.

She can't fuck Root, and now she physically can't stand to see somebody else do it, so she does the next best thing. Shaw swings her legs out from under the sheets and walks barefoot from the room, letting the door slam childishly on her way out. It's late in the evening, and she's probably woken half the floor up with the ruckus, but that's somebody else's problem.

The kitchen lights flicker a few times before finding stability. Shaw cups her palms under the tap, letting the cold water fill her hands before she takes a drink. Her shoulders feel stiff with inactivity, and she's too tired and agitated to go looking for cups in the many shelves of the kitchenette.

There's an open box of Pop-Tarts left out on the counter, and Shaw immediately tears into one of the wrappers, not feeling particularly guilty about it. Leaving food unattended around here is just asking for petty theft. It's not _her_ fault that people don't take proper care of their baked goods.

Mouth crammed full with pastry and a measly layer of icing, Shaw rests her hip against the edge of the counter and glares balefully at the wall. She tries, with great effort, not to think about what's going on in the other room.

Root's probably finished reassuring her guest, is probably doing that thing she does where her fingers squeeze your biceps in mock sympathy when she's really trying to be an asshole. Maybe this girl won't know the difference.

Maybe Root's already three fingers deep and smiling at her instead of the empty space in Shaw's bed.

But Shaw isn't thinking about that. There's a chip in the tiles above the stove, shaped like a distorted lizard-puppy, and she's decidedly more interested in this than anything Root has planned for the evening.

So interested, in fact, that she doesn't notice someone else enter the room behind her until they're three steps away and whispering, "Sameen," like it's a request and a demand all rolled into one.

Shaw narrows her eyes, chewing up the Pop-Tart a little faster in her mouth so she can swallow it down and tell Root to leave her the fuck alone. In her frustration, she'd ended up forcing at least two thirds of the pastry in there, and now she can't get rid of it fast enough.

 Long fingers close around her forearm, and suddenly Shaw's getting yanked around and forced backwards against the counter. She manages to force out a muffled grunt of annoyance at being manhandled before Root's lurching at her, mouth first.

It probably would've been a pretty great kiss too, if not for the half-eaten Pop-Tart bunching Shaw's cheeks up like a food-hoarding chipmunk. After the initial surprise wears off, she's forced to shove Root's face away, lest she decide to French the whole thing up and watch the kiss spiral out from Awkward into Downright Disgusting territory.

Root looks almost hurt by the rejection. Her fingers clench at Shaw's shoulder weakly, closing around the strap of her tank top, and Shaw finally manages to get the mushy remains of her stolen treat down her throat so she can speak.

"Sorry," she mutters, licking a stray crumb off her bottom lip. "Pop-Tart."

It's not really an explanation for anything, but Root's face lights up anyway. She grins and closes her eyes, head dropping down against Shaw's like a massive weight just tumbled off her back. The hand not tangled in Shaw's top creeps up and settles at the back of her neck.

Shaw takes five seconds to appreciate how nice Root's body feels, all warm and pressed up against her like this, before the blatant intimacy of their situation rears its ugly head and violently torpedoes any building arousal she might have had.

Root's head draws back and dips like she's about to kiss her again and immediately, Shaw smacks her palm flat against Root's collarbone and pushes her away. "We are _not_ doing this."

"That's okay," Root says, letting herself be shoved back without a fight. She moves to Shaw's side instead and mimics her posture, hands gripping the edge of the counter, before hoisting herself up into a sitting position. "We can just have a little girl-talk instead. Catch up on some things."

"We don't talk," Shaw points out. She finishes off the last of her pastry quickly, just in case Root decides she's hungry and tries to snatch it away, like she sometimes does with Shaw's drinks when Shaw's not being vigilant enough.

"Because we've never had a problem communicating. Except now," Root shakes her head, gazing off towards the doorway while Shaw scrutinizes her expression, "I need you to clear something up for me."

And then she leans over, one hand sweeping her hair to the side, managing to loom over Shaw in a way that makes her twitch and curse the extra inches Root has on her, even without the wooden platform underneath. Shaw takes the bait. "Oh, yeah?"

"Do you have feelings for me?"

There's an awkward pause as Shaw freezes, head turning with slow, jerky movements like her neck's a dial being cranked in the wrong direction. This, of all things, she hasn't quite accounted for.

Because, sure, Root flirts with her from a distance and watches her cum on the regular, but she's never asked for anything more than that. Root's been shooting  blunt arrows at her from the opposite side of their Fuck Wall, and now she's suddenly punching a hole through the foundations of it.

_Do you have **feelings** for me?_

God damn it.

Shaw glances her way, catches sight of the soft, glowing expression going from zero to sixty across her face for all of two seconds before she has to slam a Stop sign on it for both their sakes.

"I feel like you're really fucking annoying, if that's what you mean."

"You saw me with someone else, and you ran away. Why is that?" Root asks.

The question digs into the side of her head, burrowing its way through because, actually, it was more of a brisk stride than a run, but she's still standing here in her sleepwear at 2am, staring at paint-chipped tiles on the wall.

So she doesn't deny anything. Instead, she says, "I just don't want to do this anymore." And it's the truth.

Root seems surprised by her honesty, and Shaw's expecting another barrage of questions now that they've finally opened this door.  But all she gets back is a breathless, "Okay," that sounds more upbeat than it really ought to.

Wasn't Root all about the voyeurism thing? That was the whole point after all.

"Is that why you kissed me?" Shaw bites out. "Because you think I have feelings for you?"

Root looks at her, stares and stares like she always does, scraping her teeth along her bottom lip before answering. "No," she says, looking agitated. "It's because I have feelings for _you_."

And just to salt the wound a little more thoroughly, Root walks out before Shaw can even tell her how ridiculous that is.

Their room's totally empty when Shaw gets there a few minutes later. There's a scarf crumpled up and abandoned on Root's bed, but no Root, so Shaw lies down with her back to the room and tries to sleep the whole thing off.

-

"I need a new roommate," Shaw says to Carter the next morning, cornering her in the hallway on her way to the stairs.

Root is still gone when she wakes up, but the memory of last night pounds through Shaw's head like a thundering drum beat. The light crossing Root's face in their bedroom. Shaw escaping to the kitchen. Root kissing her and cupping warm fingers around the back of her neck.

She makes the decision pretty quickly after that.

"As soon as possible," Shaw adds impatiently, when Carter just blinks at her request and takes a sip from the coffee in her travel mug.

"What happened to your old one?"

_She wants to date me. She tried to kiss me. We watched each other get laid, and now I'm really, disgustingly attracted to her._

None of those seem like the right thing to say here.

"Nothing, yet. Can't promise that'll be the case if I'm stuck with her any longer."

Carter raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Finals are less than a month away, and she's just now becoming a problem? Who were you with again... Groves?"

"Root, yeah," Shaw mutters, correcting her without really thinking about it. "And it's not like this is the first time I've wanted out."

"But you're suddenly choosing to drag me into it."

"Like you said, Finals are coming up. Figure I should get rid of distractions."

"So she's distracting you?" Carter's starting to sound like she's catching onto something, and Shaw decides she'd better pull it back before her RA gets a real foothold on the situation. Carter's smart, perceptive too, and their rooms are adjacent so she probably knows what they've been up to all year.

Too risky.

"By being a pain in the ass."

Rolling her eyes at Shaw's vague complaints, Carter hoists the strap of her messenger bag a little higher up one shoulder and gestures at Shaw with the travel mug. "Look, I'm not in any position to kick someone out of their room, especially now."

Well, shit.

"But if you find someone who's willing to trade, and everybody's happy with it - _including_ Root - maybe I can make it happen."

With that, she gracefully pivots around Shaw and walks away, leaving Shaw to wonder: just who the hell likes Root enough to share a room with her?


	3. Chapter 3

The answer, when it finally occurs to her, is Zoe Morgan.

Shaw's seen her talking to Root before, having an actual conversation like two people who can stand to be around each other (for much longer than Shaw herself can bear to listen when The Friendly Types start flapping their jaws), and that's more than enough of a reason for her to bring it up.

"You ever think about trying something new?" she asks Zoe, that same afternoon when they just happen to bump into each other on the street. By design, obviously, because Zoe prowls the campus like a fleeting shadow and Shaw has to make a pretty solid effort to catch up.

"Are you hitting on me, Shaw?" Zoe looks amused, maybe even interested in such an offer, if Shaw was looking for that.

Unfortunately, she's still got a Root-shaped knot in her underwear, but Shaw files that expression and its connotations away for another time; she's distracted, sure, but it's always been worth keeping a note of these things.

"Your roommate, it's Rousseau, yeah? I know you two aren't close. How about a trade?"

"Sounds to me like you need a favour," Zoe says. There's a gleam in her eyes that Shaw recognises but doesn't care for. It's the same look she brings out when they're playing Texas Hold'Em with John, right before Zoe takes the pot and every trace of their dignities along with it, scooping the lot into her handbag while they look on in despair.

Shaw can appreciate a woman who knows what she's doing, but Zoe Morgan is the sort that always knows way more than you'd like her to. She's also the reason that Shaw has, after one particularly vicious game of poker, been forced to spend a week living off puny side dishes and instant noodles, and that's a dark period that still hangs over her head.

Shaw has to remind herself why this is necessary. Kitchen. Feelings. Yeah, there it is.

"What do you want? Bearing in mind I can't pick up any more _samples_ ," Shaw says, making air quotations with her fingers. "Pretty sure the store finally gave my photo to Security."

"I've got a couple of ideas, but, uh," Zoe stops, checks her phone, gives Shaw a look that says _I know all your secrets and I'll sell them to the highest bidder_ , "get back to me when you have your affairs in order. So to speak."

Shaw lets her jaw clench and jut to the side, feeling the irritation settle under her cheekbones, but she lets it slide. This was never going to be a painless exercise.

"Think Rousseau would go for it?"

Scoffing, Zoe draws to a stop outside one of the buildings, and turns on her heel so Shaw can tell she's on the brink of being dismissed. "You can leave that one to me. Just... go talk to Root."

She catches the front door of the building as it's thrown open, smiling at the professional figure that steps out like she has every right to be there. As soon as they turn a corner, Zoe disappears inside, and Shaw glances at the untouched keypad as the door clicks shut in her face.

-

It's not like she's been avoiding this conversation with Root. Not exactly. Carter's made it pretty clear that nothing is happening without Root's permission, and Shaw knew from the start that this was going to be the only true roadblock of the arrangement.

Zoe's tricky, and Martine openly hates her guts, but Root has a Crush and, besides being the whole fucking problem in the first place, it's going to make kicking her out an issue.

The conversation simulates in her head a few times as she walks around the block, letting each one progress into its worst case scenario before moving on. Some are more carefully considered than others.

("Root, you're hot and all, but would you mind leaving... like, immediately?"

"Root, you have to move out. Go live with Zoe."

"We can't share a room anymore, because you walk around in your underwear and I want you to sit on my face. _No_ , that's not a problem, but you'd take it the wrong way."

And, in one of her favourites, Shaw settles for picking Root up and throwing her bodily into the hallway. It's not really a long-term solution, though.)

In each case, Root snaps at her or maybe she cries a little, and in one particular scenario, she cups a hand around Shaw's neck and they fuck it out on the desk. Shaw aborts that simulation... eventually.

When she lets herself back into their room about a half hour later, Root is sat at that same desk with her back to the door, typing vigorously at her laptop. She tilts her head minutely at Shaw's entrance, but her back is straight like a metal rod and it's the chilliest reception Shaw's ever had upon walking in on her.

"We need to talk," Shaw says, leaning on their door with her arms crossed, the picture of a serious adult with a serious problem. It's something she's been working on.

Root doesn't turn around, doesn't stop typing for even a second. "We already tried that, remember?"

"A real conversation. Not whatever that was."

To Root's credit, she takes the criticism in her stride. When she closes the laptop, it's with careful hands, and she's not even glaring when she turns around. This is, admittedly, a little disappointing, because Shaw's always enjoyed plucking reactions like that out of her, rare as they are.

"That, Sameen, was the mating call of the feverishly horny. Or the outrageously drunk. Feel free to pick and choose your answer."

Shaw fights a grimace, hands tucked a little tighter into her armpits. "So you, uh, say that junk to every hot girl that passes through here, do you?"

That's tacky, even for Root, and Shaw doesn't believe it for a second. She also knows that Root didn't smell like alcohol that night, even after seemingly returning from some club across the city. Instead, she smelled like- like Root. Like fruit that Shaw's never seen her eating, and like the black leather jackets that Shaw sometimes borrows without permission. Like that, but so much closer than usual.

Root taps her fingers against the desk as if she's still typing, close-lipped smile in place, and Shaw recognises the stench of bullshit before it's spewed at her feet, especially Root's particular brand of it. "We can't all click our heels together and wish for a half-decent fuck with no strings attached."

"Well," Shaw puts on her most condescending smile like it's a flimsy party hat, "maybe you should learn to cut the strings when you're done pulling on them. Like that girl from last night; something tells me she didn't get her happy ending."

"In all fairness, I _was_ expecting things to go in a direction more pleasant for all three of us," Root says, curling her fingers and tucking a pale fist under her chin.

The implications there, of Root trying to pull her into a threesome, and of Shaw quite possibly having missed out on an opportunity like that, make her fume inside. If this was all Root had been asking of her, why the head games? She asks as much.

"Sweetie," Root tips her head, eyes downcast. "We both know I've been more than open about this. You don't think I bought all that fancy lingerie for a one-night-stand, do you?"

No. "Maybe."

She's smiling again, that sly, uppity one that Root pulls out when she wants to say something without really saying it.

"I wouldn't let just anybody watch me like that."

And yeah, okay, maybe Shaw's always been aware of that; because she started it, technically, and because she's not so much an exhibitionist as she is completely unashamed of her body and the various things that come in and out of it.

Shaw knows that if she'd bothered to turn the lights on, if she'd locked the damn door before those itchy, plastic handcuffs, Root wouldn't have started this whole fucked-up game to begin with, and maybe, eventually, they'd have ended up fucking anyway.

Because, for some lame reason, they're compatible.

"We're probably going to have sex," Shaw admits, to Root and to herself, and it's kind of nice to just get that out there. From the look on Root's face, the little twitch of her jaw, she agrees.

But here's the thing: "It's going to be really hot sex, and maybe we'll do it a couple more times while we're all fired up. Hell, maybe it'll become an ongoing thing."

(And then. And then.)

"And _then_ , Root, you're going to wake up one day, maybe this year or two years down the line. You're going to wake up and decide you want to hold my hand on the street, or tell people we're in love while you're out getting our cat neutered."

Around this point, people usually start getting whiny; because _how could she know_ , and _who says crap like that_ , etc., etc. But Shaw knows. And they always think they get it, right up until they realise what it is that they're getting.

Root hasn't said a word though, which is suspicious in itself because Root likes to talk; to Shaw, to the people she sleeps with, and sometimes to herself, the weirdo.

Instead, Root's just looking at her, glossy-eyed and barely blinking. Shaw thinks she's getting pretty good at reading people, but sometimes Root's expressions are encrypted in block ciphers, and that shit is locked down.

"So, basically," Shaw says, letting her head drop back against the door in resignation, "we probably shouldn't have sex."

"But you think we're going to anyway."

"Which is why I think you should move out."

It's been a messy, round trip to the main point of this whole conversation, but Shaw thinks she's been more than reasonable about it. And now her cards are on the table. Boom. Goodbye Root, hello... Rousseau.

Well, at least Martine's less interested in screwing her than screwing her over.

Over by the desk, Root's eyebrows shoot up, her face finally taking up an emotion Shaw can recognise; surprise, first of all, and amusement, too, if that's not just the default curve of her mouth. Shaw pushes off from the door and settles on her bed, palms flat on the sheets a little ways behind her. It's Shaw's way of looking like she's being open and honest, rather than as uncomfortable as she really feels.

"I already talked to Zoe. And Carter. It's a done deal." _If you accept_ , is what she doesn't say.

Root turns in her chair so that she's hugging the backrest, chin propped on top as she rolls her eyes. "I might be offended by this if I didn't find it so hilarious. One kiss and you think I'm going to ball-and-chain myself to you if you don't run for the hills."

"I'm not going anywhere," Shaw says. "But you are."

There's a tense crack in the conversation, like a bolt of lightning has passed through, and suddenly Root's launching herself out of the chair, crossing the room in a few short strides, and planting her hands on the bed at either side of Shaw's hips. Shaw ducks back automatically, frowning as Root leans over her.

That sly little smile from earlier has torn jagged across Root's mouth, and now she's grinning like a maniac, inches from Shaw's face. Her chair's still spinning from the momentum of it, and maybe that's what Shaw's head is doing too, because she doesn't move any further away, even as Root is practically whispering against her mouth.

" _Make me._ "


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy femslash/finish-fic february! double-update for the final stretch, and also porn at the end of the rainbow. thanks for taking the time to read.
> 
> & shoutout to my favourite person, julia (shmulia on ao3!) for being a great beta-reader and friend. ❤

Shaw's first thought in that moment, and it's not really in response to the demand so much as the feeling of Root's long hair brushing against her cheeks as she leans in far, far too close, is that - _for God's sake_ -  Root's taken to borrowing her damn shampoo now as well. The fact that Shaw can pin down the change, that her brain has any recognition of what Root's hair might smell like on a normal day, makes the bridge of her nose wrinkle in disgust.

Root's still pretty much blanketing her field of vision, eyes flicking from one side of her face to the other as she sways on her palms. Her lips drift away, and then closer again, but she's not making a move for anything beyond that.

That's Root, always one step forward and three steps to the side. Circling like a bird of prey.

But so far, Root's approach to whatever _this_ is - flirting, foreplay, and anything in between - has been a long, messy game of Red Light, Green Light, where green means Go, and red means Fuck Someone Else While I Masturbate Furiously.

The game's still ongoing, but the way Shaw sees it, they've been jammed on amber for a good couple of months now, and if the light's not going to flash one way or the other, she's going to do what she does best.

Shaw's going to kick this idiot out of the driver's seat, and take the damn wheel herself.

The wheel in this case is Root's scrawny arm, and Shaw takes hold of it just long enough to twist her body and jerk Root forwards onto the bed. Huffing, Root lands on one knee and turns onto her side, lips pressed together like she's not sure if she should be smiling, or where exactly this is going.

(They probably shouldn't have sex; that's what Shaw had said. And she stands by that, to an extent. But when the person whose feelings you're, somewhat half-heartedly, trying to protect is actively encouraging you to fuck them up--

Well.)

Shaw grabs her by the shoulder and pushes, toppling Root onto her back so that her legs dangle from the mattress, feet brushing the floor. Root's expression flies right past understanding and crash lands on excitement, her face so open and delighted when Shaw straddles her stomach that Shaw rolls her eyes and takes a moment to ask herself if this is really what she wants.

Root steals her milk and, apparently, her shampoo. Root doesn't know when to shut up, and she looks at Shaw like Shaw could murder somebody in cold blood, and Root would still take her hand and say, "oh no, honey, let me deal with the body for you."

It's a really fucked up kind of pure affection, and Shaw doesn't know quite what to do with that. But there are things about Root that Shaw has yet to fully experience, things that she's caught glimpses of in the long hours they've spent together in this room, with the lights off, and with Shaw on her back, watching Root watch her.

Today, Shaw's going to draw that side of Root into the light of day.

She starts by returning the smile, a slow blink and a curve of the lips that she sometimes draws on when it's the fastest way to get what she wants. On Root, she's found, it's a very effective method.

There's a slight shuffle beneath her as Root's body tenses, winding up and releasing like the tension was never there at all, but Shaw can feel the short breaths that she's taking from the movement between her thighs. Shaw straightens her back, letting her whole weight settle over Root's stomach in a way that she hopes is uncomfortable; their unfortunate height difference says nothing of muscle mass, and Shaw would like to think that she has plenty of that.

"You want this, right?" She draws the question out with relish, lifting her hands away from the sheets. One hand settles on her thigh and the other slides well past it on the other side, and Shaw's fingers close around the fabric of her shirt just tight enough to drag it up over her stomach.

In the face of this display, Root's grin slips, the corners dropping just a little more with every centimetre of distance her eyes claim over Shaw's abdomen. Shaw can see Root's bottom lip catch between her teeth,  the way her chin tucks into her chest so that she can take in the whole picture. It's flattering, but Shaw wants more than just a rapt audience.

She lets her shirt drop abruptly. "That's all, folks."

Root smiles again, a mischievous look in her eyes as she skims her fingertips over Shaw's thigh, the one not occupied by her own hand. "Is that right?"

It comes out a little breathless, maybe even unintentionally, but Shaw doesn't deign to answer; instead she just looks at the fingers barely touching her, so light she can hardly feel the contact through her trousers. They drift up and down, starting at the top of her knee and retreating just below the leg of her underwear. The touch grows rougher, more confident with every lap, but Shaw watches in silence until Root's hand finally latches around her hip and she's forced bodily against the mattress.

"I don't know, Sameen," Root says, bearing down on her from above. "Something tells me you have a lot more to offer."

And there it is, that _look_ \--

Like she wants to crowd Shaw in from all sides. Like she wants to bite Shaw, scratch her, pull her hair until tears start to gather at the corners of her eyes. Like she wants to strip Shaw naked, tie her arms behind her back, and lock her out in the hall for anyone to find.

Well, Shaw thinks, something like that would guarantee them both separate rooms, at the very least.

But this is what she wants from Root. Not dopey smiles and heartfelt confessions while her cheeks are full of snack food; she wants to be _dominated_. And so, when Root's eyes flutter shut and her mouth descends at an achingly slow pace, Shaw fights the urge to crane her neck up and surrenders the moment. For now.

What follows isn't the deep, crushing kiss that Shaw has imagined on more than one occasion, but there's an intensity behind it that belies the passive disinterest she's been getting from Root since last night. Her lips are soft and aggressive as she slides her mouth over Shaw's, breathing short puffs of air around the quiet little noises they're both making. Root tilts her head, closes her mouth around Shaw's bottom lip, and scrapes her teeth along it roughly as it slides out.

With her forearms planted on the bed, Root flattens herself over Shaw's torso, and Shaw returns the kiss, impatient but open to the pleasant sensations: Root's open mouth, her warm breath, the soft curves of her body rubbing against Shaw's own as she draws back every few seconds for a better angle. It feels amazing, like her limbs are thrumming with excess energy, shooting up into the tips of her fingers as Shaw buries them into the soft material of Root's sweater.

Root seems excited by the touch, dragging herself forward enthusiastically with her elbows until she can reach her hands around Shaw's head and pull the tie out of her hair with blunt fingernails. The movement brings her knees forward for balance, and, whether or not by design, Root's thigh gets buried between Shaw's spread legs like it's made to be there, jolting Shaw out of the kiss with a wet sound.

She can feel Root grinning against her cheek, the way one of Root's hands leaves her hair to settle at the base of her neck, nails scraping at the skin there idly as she nips at the corner of Shaw's mouth. Root's leg pulls back, just long enough for Shaw to miss the contact, and slides back into place, harder and brutal with intent.

Groaning, Shaw digs her fingers into Root's waist and practically chokes out the words, "Fuck me."

The intended demand comes out like a strained afterthought, more emphasis on the _me_ than the _fuck_ , but it really has been that kind of day. Her hips lift under Root's stomach, thighs squeezing against her sides as she tries again. " _Fuck me_ , Root."

"Okay," Root whispers, and immediately pulls herself away.

Shaw watches her go, watches Root crawl to the end of her bed and stand up, like she's watching a fish grow legs and hobble up onto dry land. It's an unprecedented display from someone who, just moments ago, was shamelessly pawing at her.

Shaw lifts herself up onto her forearms, trying to mould her expression into something less like frustration, and Root snorts at the non-reaction when she turns around. "Don't look so glum, Sweetie. I just need to grab a few things."

Invisible goosebumps flare up across Shaw's arms, and she lets a slow grin take over her face. There's an unsatisfied ache between her legs, but she's not impatient, not today. If there's one thing she's learned about her nuisance of a roommate, it's that she always, always delivers.

"Maybe it was a little presumptuous of me at the time," Root says as she hooks two fingers into the handle of her dresser drawer and pulls, "but with the way things were going, I wanted to be prepared."

"So what are we talking here? Spreader bar? Nipple clamps?"

Shaw's never seen either of these things in Root's repertoire, but that doesn't mean they're not on the table. She knows about the Rabbit stashed in Root's bottom drawer, and the black harness Root keeps in a cardboard box underneath her bed. If she'd ever taken the time to actually dig through Root's crap, beyond nudging it out of the way with her foot when it inches too close to her own belongings, there'd probably be a lot more to uncover.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Sameen," Root murmurs around a smile, and what she pulls out of the dresser is far from ground-breaking.

"Are those... handcuffs?"

"Of a sort." Root actually looks proud of herself, standing there with a leather cuff in each hand as she pulls the chain taut between them experimentally. "I doubt you'd get the same experience in the back of a patrol car," and here she tilts her head, eyes flicking up like maybe her train of thought swerves off-road for a second, "but I thought it would be nostalgic."

"You think I have a record?" Shaw asks, turning onto her side. She doesn't, but that's not really the point.

Shoulders hunched in a lazy shrug, Root sits back down on the bed, shifting the cuffs into one hand so she can root around underneath as she elaborates. "Halloween. Your friend from the party."

Her friend of the one-night-stand variety, the one who left her cuffed to the headboard in her underwear; Shaw remembers. Not exactly a beautiful memory worth reliving, especially the part where her wrists get fucked up and she's forced to pleasure herself in the bathroom because Root has scared off her second pair of hands.

"It's a little late for an apology-fuck," Shaw says, pushing herself up into a sitting position to better scrutinize Root's expression, but she's still hunched over the edge of the bed, reaching for something out of sight.

"Actually," Root pauses, face lighting up as she seems to find what she's looking for, "you should think of it as a celebration."

Finally, Shaw hears a box scrape across the carpet as Root drags it forward, and when she turns to look at her, clearly undaunted by how unimpressed Shaw looks, Root continues without prompting. "We've had a lot of sex this year. More than I'd actually intended on having, if we're being completely honest; I've never really needed the stimulation that frequently. But..."

Root's eyes drift as she trails off, blazing a trail down Shaw's chest and away, suddenly, to the thin tube of lubricant and the dildo she now has bundled together in one hand. Carelessly,  she drops them onto the bed at Shaw's feet and returns her focus to the box. Shaw blinks, slow and lazy, enjoying the little burst of anticipation that pricks at her when the toy brushes against her ankle.

When she looks up, Root's finished with her treasure hunt,  that familiar harness draped over her lap and what looks like a bullet vibrator tucked between her fingers. Root's gaze has settled on her face again, and Shaw jerks her head to show that she's still listening.

"Like I was saying," Root murmurs, tapping at the vibrator with her index finger, "ultimately, I didn't need the sex. But when I saw you like that, all strung out..."

"Bet it got you all worked up." Shaw smirks, proud despite herself.

"It got me thinking. About you, mostly," and here, Shaw rolls her eyes. "At first, I just wanted to show off a little, but then things got complicated. Every time I turned around, there you were."

The mattress dips by Shaw's thigh as Root turns, leaning across the bed and headfirst into Shaw's personal space, just like always. Obviously, it's a lot more welcome when Shaw's about to get an orgasm or three out of it. Maybe that's why she makes no effort to back away; well, that and the wall against her spine.

"I do live here," Shaw points out, folding her leg up so she can rest an arm over it, nonchalant even as Root's chin is a centimetre from her shoulder.

"But not at that bookstore on 7th Avenue, where I watched you smack a grown man over the head with a hardcover of War and Peace."

"He caught me on a bad day."

Root smiles, dropping the vibrator behind her as she settles against the wall beside Shaw. "Actually, you caught him ripping pages out in the Erotic Literature section."

"Figures you'd be lurking around there." Root's still leaning over, eyes half-lidded as Shaw scratches at her thigh idly and looks her in the eye. Waiting.

"At that little park behind the library, you found a collared dog wandering around alone and spent the afternoon searching for its owner. Who, as it turns out, is a ten-year-old girl that you still play soccer with on the weekends. Cute."

This is, as far as creepy behaviour goes, pretty exceptional, even for Root. Shaw's never mentioned Bear to her, or Gen, and even Root's not perceptive enough to pick all that up from the patches of dried mud on her dirty laundry.

"Listen, Root. You're hot, and I'm still pretty worked up right now. I might still be willing to fuck you if the next words out of your mouth are at least eighty percent less Criminal Minds. Stalking isn't sexy."

Root blinks back at her innocently, an indignant pout working at her bottom lip. "Okay, cards on the table; that one I heard second hand from a very reliable source."

Squinting, Shaw wonders what kind of all-seeing deity Root's had whispering in her ear. But Root says, "Harold Finch", and Shaw's hardly surprised. It figures, really, that the two biggest nerds in the city would be acquainted. And talking about Shaw's private life, apparently.

"You _also_ don't live at the bar you called me from three weeks ago. The one I had to collect you from after you started a drunken brawl in my honour."

"That didn't happen," Shaw mutters. "Now, if you're done playing _games_ -"

"You don't remember?" Root looks positively gleeful, and it's the kind of expression Shaw expects would scare the piss out of a small child. As for Shaw, it just makes her rub her thighs together a little, ever so subtly.

And naturally, Root takes that as a sign to put her hand back on Shaw's leg.

"I don't remember... because it didn't happen," Shaw says, enunciating each word to express how ridiculous of a story this is. Because, yeah, okay, she likes Root, likes her in a "10/10 would bang" sort of way, but Root's a grown-ass woman, and she can fight her own battles.

Root shuffles closer, leaves a hand on Shaw's thigh, drawing tiny circles with her thumb that make Shaw's muscles tense. "As it turns out, men don't like hearing about how you've sexually dominated their exes. And you don't like hearing about their feelings on the subject."

Shaw's not lying when she says that she doesn't remember this. She remembers waking up one day with a hangover and a nasty bruise smeared across her knuckles, but that's not unusual for her. Maybe she'd take a swing on Root's behalf after all. "Don't thank me, I might barf."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Root's in motion, throwing a leg over Shaw's lap and straddling her hips. Shaw exhales through her nose in surprise, and automatically grabs at Root's waist to keep her balanced. She's uncomfortably aware of Root's skin against her fingers, the smooth, warm area between her shirt and the waistband of her jeans.

"The point is," Root says, palms folding over the curve of Shaw's shoulders, "these things keep happening. And it's like you don't even notice what you're doing to me."

If Shaw could tear her gaze away from Root's face for more than a second, she might look up in time to see her eyebrows hit the ceiling, but no such luck. Shaw's known for most of her life that things are different for her; emotions, yeah, she's a little limited there. But she's not dense.

"You said that you have feelings for me."

"I did."

"And then you said that you didn't."

"I thought that was what you wanted to hear."

Shaw rolls her eyes, head lolling back against the wall. It had been what she'd wanted to hear; that was her Get Out of Jail Free card, thrown face-up on the table. With a little more work, she probably would've talked Root out of her life for good. Or her room, at the very least. But now, chest-to-chest with Root and her own poorly-timed attachments, Shaw figures she's already made it this far.

God damn, this idiot.

"You couldn't have just let this be a dirty sex thing?" Shaw asks, groaning internally.

"Sameen." Root smiles, running her hands up the back of Shaw's neck and digging her nails in. "It can still be a dirty sex thing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has not in fact been beta-read! enjoy the mess.

And then Shaw kisses her. Because she's tired of talking, mostly, and it seems like Root's finally done making her point. Shaw kisses her, rough and open-mouthed, and throws an arm around her back to drag her as close as possible.

Root makes a little gasping noise as she's pulled in, but doesn't hesitate. She lets Shaw take control, sinks into her like thick molasses and cups Shaw's cheeks in her palms as Shaw licks into her mouth, swiping across her teeth. Root's mouth tastes like coffee, like the remnants of the empty Starbucks cups that are littering her desk.

When she pulls back, Shaw's almost reluctant to let her go. She drops her fingers out from under Root's sweater, grinning as Root grabs at her shirt and pulls it off her when she lifts her arms up obediently. It catches on the back of Shaw's chair midflight and hangs on, joined in quick succession by Shaw's bra and any doubts she's ever had about this whole experience, because Root's got her splayed backwards across the mattress before she can blink.

" _So_ much better from this angle." Shaw pulls her hair in agreement.

Pinning her down, Root licks across the roof of her mouth, bites her lip, sinks down the bed until Shaw's smirking at her hairline, and Shaw can't see Root's fingers  unfastening the top button of her pants, but she hears the zipper and spreads her legs in expectation.

Root tugs at the flaps playfully, like she's really thinking about it, but ultimately leaves her hanging. Instead, she bends down and licks a slow trail back up Shaw's stomach, and suddenly the inside of Root's mouth is searing hot against her nipple, teeth closing around it in a harsh bite that has Shaw wrapping a leg around Root's hips for whatever friction she can take.

Shaw can feel Root's hands against her back, one stroking languidly across the bare flesh between her shoulders and the other dipping below the waistband of her trousers. Root's fingers slip into her underwear, taking a handful of her ass and squeezing roughly.

It's like being consumed from all sides, pulled apart by Root's smooth hands and the teasing suction of her mouth. Shaw clenches at the pillow tucked under her head, exhales shakily.

"Root," she says; a demand or a request or just a slip of the tongue, she's not sure.

Root moves back from her chest and up to kiss her again, latches her fingers around Shaw's wrists with surprising strength. Caught up in the coaxing slide of Root's tongue, Shaw closes her eyes and lets her arm be pulled up over her head.

She's always taken Root to be the delicate type, the kind of person who'd get carried off by a strong gust of wind and never seen again. But then, she thinks, what this woman lacks in upper body strength, she probably makes up for with sheer aggression.

The grip on her wrist loosens then disappears, replaced by cool leather, and Shaw smirks into the kiss when her mind slots the pieces together. Just one wrist cuffed to the bedpost, for whatever reason, but it's about time. "You got something in mind for my free hand?"

Root just grins, flicking her tongue over Shaw's teeth before pulling away again. She slides open palms down Shaw's stomach, past her hips, and yanks  her trousers down to the knee abruptly. It takes her a moment to peel them over Shaw's feet and send them tumbling over the edge of the bed, and even longer still before she hooks a finger in Shaw's underwear and strips her of that too.

She spends a ridiculous amount of time after that open-mouthed against Shaw's thigh, teeth and tongue attending to whatever skin she can gather between. Shaw's not particular about hickeys, especially the kind that get lost under the folds of her clothes, so she can't bring herself to complain about the two, three, four and beyond points of interest while she's groaning and turning her wrist inside the leather cuff.

The bruises mark a path up to the liquid heat pooling between Shaw's legs. She bends her knees, tries to draw Root's focus to where she needs it, until eventually she has to dig her heel into Root's shoulder and say, "If you don't stick something inside me in the next five seconds, I'm cutting you off."

Shaw's teeth catch on the 'f', locked on her bottom lip when Root slides first one, then two fingers deeply into her, curling them and straightening them individually like she's playing a delicate instrument.

"If you wanted to cut something off," Root says, free hand splayed over Shaw's stomach as she fucks her, "there's a pen-knife in your top drawer. And, well, I'm not dramatically attached to this lingerie."

Shaw makes a sound deep in her throat when Root turns her hand and teases a third finger against her centre, and Root's knowledge of the contents of her bedside cabinet manages to pass her by. Still, she enjoys the thought of stripping Root down with a knife in hand a little too much to hide the new discharge of wetness gathering around Root's fingers as she thrusts into her.

"Sure- sure you'd trust me not to stick you with the pointy end?" Shaw manages, lifting her hips in time with Root's rough motions.

Root leans up to catch Shaw's lip between her teeth now that she's released it, smooths the flat of her tongue over it before letting go and dipping back for a more chaste kiss. "No, Sameen, because I'm really intimidated by your mainstream television references."

"Oh, I can be intimidating," Shaw insists, but she supposes the point is moot when she's butt-naked and cuffed to the bed frame.

"Mm," Root hums agreeably, thrusting a little deeper this time so that Shaw's back arches off the bed responsively.

They're quiet for a while after that, beyond the wet slap of Root's fingers sliding in and out of her, the quiet moans that Shaw can't quiet keep to herself, and the whispered encouragement Root simply won't. Shaw feels her orgasm creeping up, rising like a powerful tide, and she's so, so ready for it that the sudden loss of contact as Root pulls away leaves her floundering like a desperate swimmer.

"What the fuck?" Shaw snaps, watching Root sit back on her haunches and cup wet fingers over Shaw's upturned knee. "Problem?"

"Not really," Root says, squeezing Shaw's knee and swinging her legs off the mattress to stand up. She turns back to Shaw, who's lying back on one elbow, confused and disoriented, smiling dotingly. Shaw's about to snap at her again when Root grabs the wrist of her free arm, leading it away from the bed and down over her own body.

"Could you take over for me?" Root cups her hand over Shaw's fingers, folding them over her mound, and Shaw feels herself quiver when the pad of her middle finger dips between her labia. "Just for a little while. Wait for me."

With that, Root withdraws her hand and disappears into the bathroom, and while Shaw's playing with herself, she eventually clocks that the harness and dildo have disappeared from her side in the process.

It doesn't really come as a surprise that Root's as fastidious in this as she is in every other thing that she does. But at least Shaw won't be waking up with a nasty rash.

When Root eventually steps out of the bathroom, it's with the harness in place and an eager grin sparking across her cheeks. She's already naked, and Shaw is perhaps a little disappointed that she didn't get to follow through with the knife.

_Next time_ , she thinks, not really processing that she's already considering this an ongoing thing.

Root stops in the doorway, leans her head against the frame and watches while Shaw fucks herself on the opposite side of the room. It's not really going anywhere, not with one hand anyway, not until she sees Root's fingers wrapped around the toy between her legs, the straps looping over her thighs, and suddenly Shaw thinks she might come just like this.

"How do I look?" Root asks through her smile, like she's not already god damn aware what she's doing to Shaw right now.

"Like you're too far away."

Shaw pulls her fingers out with a groan as Root crosses the floor in five steps or less. She shuffles up the bed again with her elbow, excitement bubbling just under her skin. Finally. She's so ready. The leather cuff digs into her wrist as she strains against its hold.

Root props one knee on the bed, watching Shaw manoeuvre herself into a comfortable position through half-lidded eyes. "You look so good like this, Sameen," she says, and Shaw's breath catches as she sees Root's fingers dip beneath the harness, touching herself under the strap-on.

"Come here." Shaw stretches a leg out, hooking it around Root's thigh insistently until she crawls forwards on her knees.

The dildo brushes against Shaw's inner thigh, skidding over the bruises left by Root's mouth earlier. It's already slick with lube, ready to slide right into her, and Shaw licks her lips impatiently. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm savouring the moment." Root bites her lip around a smile, crouching over Shaw with her hands flat on the mattress. She strokes up the length of Shaw's arm, the one tied up above her head, and squeezes just below the cuff.

Shaw enjoys the pressure, but not quite as much as she enjoys the little bounce of Root's breasts as she moves. While Root's amusing herself running hands over her tensed bicep, Shaw lifts her free arm and makes a grab for Root's chest, catching a nipple in the gap between her thumb and index finger. She squeezes until Root's hand falls away, until her hips dropping accidentally and the strap-on's pressed over Shaw's clit, sending pinwheels of fire shooting up through the base of her stomach.

Root takes a moment to readjust after that, and Shaw manages wrap an arm around her back and drag her down so she can put her mouth to work. The first touch of her tongue makes Root lose her balance. Biting makes her cry out, voice pitched even higher than usual. Shaw feels the toy rubbing between her legs, quiets every filthy sound she wants to make with the soft contours of Root's chest.

And then, what seems like far too soon for Shaw, there's a hand against her head and she's being pushed back against the pillow, the palm she'd been running over Root's back snatched up over her head with the other one.

"Don't get too carried away now," Root says, breathless, right before she unwraps the cuff from the headboard and loops its chain around the horizontal bar. She fixes the cuff over Shaw's other wrist and tightens it. "We haven't even started yet."

Shaw tugs at her restraints experimentally. She knows how this works, has seen it play out often enough. "Blindfold next, right?"

But Root doesn't reach for the drawer again. "Not today," she says instead, running her nose along Shaw's cheek and kissing the weak spot just under her ear. "Not with you."

"I wouldn't complain."

The kiss becomes a sharp nip of warning. "Maybe I just want you to look at me."

Shaw rolls her eyes at the admission, but she doesn't push it. Truth is, she's not so displeased with this arrangement. Sensory deprivation, being at Root's mercy like that, yeah, the thought gets her a little hot under the collar. But she wants to see the innocent crinkle in Root's nose when she's really into it, that nasty little gleam of possessive intent; this time not tempered with jealousy, not blunted with distance.

When Root pulls back, hand out of Shaw's line of sight as she arranges the strap on, the wet tip nudging at her centre. Shaw breathes out, shivering in anticipation, rolls her hips up and _takes_ it.

The toy slides in without resistance, and she feels so good, so full. Root's got one hand fisted in her hair and the other on her hip, pulling Shaw down into every thrust, throwing her back against the mattress so her wrists jerk in the cuffs. Shaw can hear the chain scraping over her headboard as she writhes around, hears the flimsy thing bouncing against the wall and hopes it snaps right off.

Root's working up a steady rhythm of her own, struggling to keep her eyes open as the base of the strap-on drives down on her clit relentlessly. She makes breathless little gasps, and when Shaw moans after a particularly deep thrust, Root drags her head back by the hair and kisses her, all messy and deep like she wants to swallow the sound.

Shaw opens her mouth to Root's tongue, catching Root's bottom lip with her teeth when it slides out, and doesn't let go until the fingers in her hair take a punishing handful and pull fiercely. She groans at the pain, loving every second of it, until she's forced to either lose her grip on Root's lip or a good chunk of her hair.

"That wasn't very nice," Root says, voice low, but then she's running her tongue over the fading bite mark like maybe it was. "I didn't know you were such a biter."

"What can I say?" Shaw gives a lazy shrug, encumbered by the handcuffs, that turns into a tense arching of her back when Root slides the dildo out of her and slams it back in, right up against her g-spot.

After that, she's kind of struggling to say anything at all.

But Root talks enough for the both of them. Dirty shit mostly; about the things she's thought about doing to Shaw these last couple of months, the stuff she wouldn't dare attempt with the other women, and about the things she's seen Shaw do with other people that she wants to replicate.

"But _better_ ," Root insists, squeezing one of Shaw's breasts roughly before walking long fingers down over her stomach, rubbing at her clit between thrusts, and Shaw's not in any position to dispute her on that, because she's all but hanging onto the headboard for dear life now.

Shaw feels her heart-rate accelerating, the toy inside her filling her up just a little more intensely than before, and then she's coming, the orgasm rippling through her like a freight-train shaking the platform as it races by. But Root has no intention of stopping, doesn't slow down for even a second, just cuts a smile that runs with pride and keeps her pace, thrust for thrust.

"Fuck, Root," Shaw chokes out, but she's grinning back. Her eyes are shut tight, but she can feel Root's gaze, the intensity of it, and suddenly there's a hot mouth latching onto her neck, sucking bruises until they track down to her shoulder, and little puffs of warm breath that make the wet skin tingle.

"Starting to feel," Shaw cuts herself off, groaning as Root squeezes her clit again, "starting to feel like a god damn _chew toy_ over here."

"Sorry, sweetie." Root almost sounds sincere. Almost. She licks Shaw's neck one last time, and starts moving her hips again, grinding down onto Shaw, hitting her deep, this time with slower movements.

"I can't help it, you know, when you look so good. I just want to mark you up."

_Trying to scare off the competition?_ Shaw wants to ask, like she's being sarcastic but also cautious. They haven't really talked about what this is, what it's going to be when they're done fucking off seven months of sexual tension, but Shaw's enjoying herself too much right now to be that damn pragmatic; they both are.

So she wraps her legs tight around Root's thighs, yanking her restraints so she can lurch forward and catch Root's lips in a fierce kiss. When she can't hold herself up anymore, Root follows her down, licks into her mouth once before drawing back and slamming into her again and again, and then, at last, Shaw's convulsing with her second orgasm.

She loses the moment for a while, long enough for Root to pull out and unclasp the strap-on, tossing it aside. Shaw feels the mattress sink to the side of her, but doesn't think much about it. Her eyes are closed and she's a little dazed from the aftershocks.

There's a peaceful quiet for a few moments while Shaw listens to herself breathe. Right up until she hears the soft hum of a vibrator from somewhere to her right.

Her eyes fly open in surprise and she presses her thighs together defensively. It's a little too soon for another round. But then she turns to find Root's eyes on her, lip snagged between her teeth as she sits with her knees in the air. She's got both hands between her legs, the vibrator presumably doing its job already, based on the tense roll of her shoulders.

Shaw catches Root's eye and tilts her head. "You couldn't wait five seconds for me to catch my breath. Christ."

"It's fine, Sameen," Root says, like she's relieving Shaw of some kind of great burden. "I can take care of myself."

"Fuck _that_."

Shaw scrambles against the bedsheets, pulling herself up as best she can, and when she's worked that out, it doesn't take long to get the restraints off. Leather handcuffs; not so sturdy, as it happens.

"You think I'm not capable of giving as good as I get?" Shaw frowns. The idea that Root would favour a damn vibrator over her, that she'd rather get _herself_ off-

"Of course not," Root says, letting up with the toy so she can give Shaw a doting look. "I'd never question your many talents. But I just thought..."

"What?"

Root's eyes dart away as she tosses long hair out of her face. "Well, I didn't want to assume."

It's as close to shy as Shaw's ever seen her. Root's never been one to avoid eye contact, has always been content to stare at her long after the point of what's socially acceptable to a normal person. Right now she's picking at the sheets between them, the vibrator still buzzing between her fingers.

Shaw reaches for it, snatching it out of Root's hand without a fight, and Root finally manages to look at her again.

"I'm going to rock your world."

For a moment, she's a little embarrassed to be caught saying something so cliché, but then-

It's Root.

And Root being Root, she just blinks, cheeks looking a little flushed as Shaw crawls between her legs and sets a hand on her upturned knee. When the words finally hit their mark, Root's lips thin like she's pressing them together tightly, the corners turned up in a warm smile.

"You already have," she says then, and Shaw thinks it might've been killing her not to say it.

"Whatever," Shaw responds, pushing on Root's leg so she can get a good look at her. The neatly trimmed patch of hair, the soft skin that Shaw can't wait to get her mouth on; there's no way she'd have passed this up.

Root leans back on her hands while Shaw's eyes look her over, her toes curling into the sheets at Shaw's side. The attention seems to work her up even more, and Shaw wonders if maybe the voyeurism thing wasn't _entirely_ about her feelings after all.

"Ready?" She leans in close, the side of her nose pressed to Root's, prepared to steal the answer right out of her mouth.

Root nods her head, tucks her chin in gently so that their foreheads bump together, and Shaw traces the vibrator teasingly down the length of her inner thigh. She's going to drag this out for as long as possible, just to make Root work for it.

"Mm," Root moans her assent and opens her mouth for Shaw's rough kiss, throwing both arms around her shoulders as the vibrator hums between them.

All right, Shaw thinks, smirking against Root's lips and listening to her cry out responsively.

She could probably get used to this.


End file.
